Merope Gaunt: Where it all Began
by Nicholas Curtis
Summary: I don't own harry potter this is just fun for me. Dont know if I have to say that or not but I'm covering all my bases This story begins at the House of Gaunt while Marvolo and Morfin are being taken into custody after Morfin messed up Tom Riddle Sr's grill. Review Review Review please this is the first time I've ever written any sort of fiction piece I neeeeed feedback!
1. An Outbreak of Madness

**Chapter One **

**An Outbreak of Madness.**

With Her abusive father, and demented brother being hauled off at that very moment to Azkaban by the Head of Magical Law Enforcement, Bob Odgen;

Merope Gaunt quickly realized what limited her to this dingy, mediocre existence had gone out the door with them.

"Are you quite alright my dear?" The man asked, stepping back into the dusty kitchen, holding his hand out to help her from the dirt.

They could still hear the delusional rantings of Marvolo, perhaps going on about his pureblood status and how surely this would be enough to gain him position above such meaningless "laws", accompanied by a distinct hissing, which, no doubt was Morfin, taunting the snakes as they went. Their voices trailed off in the distance, and silence followed the three tenuous pops associated with their disapparition.

"M'fine" she mumbled.

Merope seemed to slide up the wall as she got to her feet leaving Bob's hand hanging awkwardly – his arm went limp and swung at his side.

"He..they…" she started, almost talking to herself, still amazed at the idea of freedom from all those horrific years abuse.

"Have they gone forever?" Merope asked with a slight hint of, what Bob could only interpret as malice.

"Oh no," he replied, "I'd expect your fath-DON'T-CALL-HIM-THAT!" Merope spat across him ferociously.

Odgen stumbled, as though thrown off by some invisible barrier into what appeared to be the living quarters of the tiny shack. He shot back to his feet with an odd sort of hop-step and, keeping an eye on this shadow of a woman, reached slowly for the inside pocket of his frock-coat, bringing forth a particularly old looking pocket watch - Noting the time, and where he just so happened to be still standing awkwardly, he stuffed the watch back into his jacket and stepped across the dirt-floor through the kitchen towards the door.

Removing the inch-thick lenses from the bridge of his nose he proceeded to contemplate yet another bizarre circumstance he'd walked into that day; opening his mouth substantially he attempted breathing on the lenses to wipe them clean. He had just helped this girl, saved her life if he wasn't mistaken. He had never seen such a sight in all his years at the ministry.

_Then again_..

He thought as what events had just taken place, seemed to finally occur to him.

_Who could blame her for associating the memory of Marvolo and Morfin Gaunt with nothing but pure hatred?_

He stole a glimpse out of the dirt-spattered window, envisioning Morfin holding a snake to his face, spitting that foul language at it.

"Marvolo, then?" he asked turning back towards Meropes rather blank expression.

She said nothing.

"Right, Marvolo and Morfin Gaunt have been taken into custody as you very well know, and are currently awaiting trial with the Wizengamot."

"Considering the circumstances," He continued, taking care to note the slightest smirk at the corner of Meropes mouth with the mention of her brother and father being hauled off by ministry personnel, "I trust they shall be brought to certain justice, but I don't expect life sentences for the pair of them."

He finished speaking and as he did so, keen on getting out of this hovel and away from Merope quickly as his legs would allow him, started again.

"Well you can expect a letter by owl this coming Monday referencing every detail to your er.. Marvolo and Morfins Ministry hearings, I bid you farewell Ms…Gaunt."

Before Merope could say anything in response Odgen turned, wrenched the door open and briskly stepped out of the cabin, shutting the door behind him with such force, he shattered the one, dirt smudged little window in the shabby hut, leaving Merope beside herself with nothing but her thoughts and a wand she could barely use.

Still shaking from the nerves, she waited in the dim lit kitchen, gazing through the newly splintered shards of glass sticking out of the window molding. She watched the man walk down the beaten path almost completely out of sight and he too, spun into nothingness with a somewhat more defined crack than his ministry fellows.

Merope fumbled for her wand and, not even sure what she wanted to do with it, gave a nasty, jittery flick. The kitchen cupboards sprang open, expelling their contents to the dirt-floor with a series of dull thuds and an earsplitting crash which followed one final warped cauldron, smashing amongst the rest of the random objects that now littered the floor.

She was used to making things like this happen; having gone her whole life without a day of proper training she was never very good with a wand, however wands weren't necessary, not for the plans set in her mind.

No, all she would require were the proper ingredients and correct instruction, everything else needed, lie on the floor right in front of her.

Merope would sort out the finer details later she had more present matters to attend, finding means of transport out of Little Hangleton being first on the list. She swept to the rickety wardrobe in the corner opposite the kitchen and, nearly ripping the fragile doors right off their rusted hinges pulled out a ragged, worn looking travelling cloak, and a broom with singed bristles bent in every which direction; not to mention the crack half-way down the middle of the rather stumpy, gnarled wooden handle.

Merope had never so much as lain finger on a broom before tonight but it didn't matter. Seeing no other alternative in travel this broom would have to suffice. She would fly to London, destined for a place she had only heard of in passing.

_"The Leaky Cauldron, was it?"_ Yes that's it, she thought to herself.

_"Fancy yourself a visit to Diagon Alley then? They'll kill you for leaving you know, deserting your proud pure blood heritage… such traitorous actions will not go unpunished."_

Where did that come from?..

"_Always watching, waiting, hoping to catch a glimpse of that muggle, isn't she.. favors that dirty veined freak of nature Tom Riddle over a proud, powerful pureblood wizard.. doesn't she?"_

Merope dropped the broom and cloak as she spun around expecting to see Morfin standing there, though she already knew the answer to this.. She felt her lips move, her vocal chords vibrate – that was not her voice.

In a panic Merope blurted the first thing that popped into her head.

"You're not real! You've gone off to Azkaban I watched you go."

_"Who is it you believe you are speaking with my dear Merope? You are after all, the only one in the room.."_

Merope let out a nervous shutter, and realizing she'd sank back to the floor in the midst of this extremely confusing argument which, couldn't have been with herself, sprang to her feet and began raking through every crack and crevice of the hut for a quill, some ink, and whatever parchment she could find - she felt it necessary to leave a note behind when she left this decrepit cabin for good.

Almost immediately she found a quill on the table next to Marvolos blood drenched knife alongside the locket of Salazar Slytherins, with the ornate S, etched into the face.

_he must've stuck one of those ministry people with that knife in all the commotion_..

Searching by dim candle light she excavated the remainder of the hut, only to find a scrap piece of weathered parchment under the wardrobe which she brought over to the table, along with, astoundingly, three sickles and twelve knuts she found in an ancient, ragged coin purse. Though it wasn't much, this was more than she had ever been able to call her own her entire life.

_"What good is your wand if you can't use it you useless sack of squib? Go on use a summoning charm crazy, you know the spell.."_

Merope was utterly baffled as these words slipped from her mouth.

_What is happening to me? _She questioned desperately.

"What sort of trick is this? Show yourself!"

This wasn't happening, it couldn't happen.. Some nameless face hidden in the darkness beyond the cabin had to be putting these thoughts into her mind, there was no other explanation because she, no matter how mentally diluted by all the years verbal abuse and near torture, would not accept the possibility she might indeed be going crazy.

Thinking it might actually be a good idea to attempt a summoning charm, she raised her wand once again and, stumbling over her words blurted, "Acc-accio ink!"

She heard a muffled burst coming from inside the wardrobe and not entirely sure she wanted to find out what had caused the noise, reluctantly stepped towards the chest of drawers once more.

She could feel heat emanating from the cabinet as she grasped the handles to open the doors. The hinges broke clean off and Merope was left standing with two sticky blackened pieces of wood. There was a horrible smell comparable to burning rubber mixed with melting plastic coming from the acrid substance.

Her eyes moved from these thickly black-coated doors to the inside of the wardrobe itself.

Plastered to the entirety of the interior, in a mass of shining blackness, a thousand shards of broken glass gave the wardrobe a freshly menacing look.

Her clumsy spell had caused the only ink bottle in the house to heat up so rapidly that it exploded, leaving the entire contents of the wardrobe coated in burnt ink and bits of melted cork.

Instead of faltering at the sight of this, Merope let out a mirthless blood curdling cackle _"You stupid girl…its accio, ACCIO! Not Accaccio. It truly is a wonder you haven't blown yourself up already with all that shotty wandwork!"_

She was on the verge of pulling her hair out at this criticism, even though these words came from her own mouth. Failing to comprehend what evils were currently waging war inside her head, she chose to ignore this most recent unintentional outbreak.

Merope crossed back through the kitchen and slumped into the wobbly, wooden chair at the table with her face in her hands.

She was completely alone she knew that to be almost certain, yet her head swam in disembodied voices, feeling as though it might just explode from all this disorienting rubbish she let out a cry of contemptuous fury, scratching at her face with her dirty fingernails.

The voices subsided with this outburst and as they did so the muscles in her jaw unclenched. This was not a good sign.

Just twenty minutes ago she had found herself free from the torment that came with being the only witch in the Gaunt family, and now it were as if she'd never be alone again..

She opened her eyes and saw the knife still fairly wet with blood, dripping over the quill which Merope guessed was probably plucked from the hindquarters of a crow.

An idea struck her full in the face she couldn't believe she hadn't thought of this before. She reached for the wrinkled parchment, dusty black quill and Marvolos completely blood-colored knife.

_Blood's thick.. much thicker than ink, surely it could serve the same purpose though.._

She smoothed the parchment as best she could and drug the tip of her quill across the glistening blade. Pausing for a fraction of a second to think, she pressed the crimson tip of the quill to the bit of parchment and began hastily scribbling her final words to Marvolo Gaunt.

Marvolo,

I took your locket. You know…the one that belonged to that Slytherin bloke. I don't know if you actually went to Azkaban but I'm not waiting around to find out. I hope you did though, I hope you died in there…I hope one of the dementors they say guard that place had your soul for dinner. But if you still draw breath when your sentence has finished.. If the dementors passed you over because of the wretched taste your soul leaves in their mouths, If you somehow find your way back to this cabin I want you to read this note.. I wanted you to know that I took your locket, and I destroyed it. I wanted you to come home and find the only thing you ever truly loved in this world gone forever. And I want you to know the pain you feel for your poor family heirloom is nothing, compared to the suffering you put me through every single day. I took your locket and you'll never get it back, and I also had some re-decorating done I think it looks much gloomier around here you should like that atleast…

With all the hate I can pour into this parchment,

Merope.

She wouldn't really destroy the locket of course, she might find some use for it and after all, it was a beautiful piece, she had seemingly very quickly grown quite accustomed to the weight of the oval casing hanging from her neck. She just wanted to crush whatever will Marvolo might have to live after whatever the future held for him; whether that be only a few months in Azkaban, or a fate worse than death at the hands of the Dementors.

_ "Great choice of words, Merope! I suspect once he does find you, he'll make your death quick and painless for that comment about his soul tasting foul…though that's hardly an insult I understand.."_

After several long, breathless moments Merope broke the silence between herself and well..herself and spoke in a slow whisper.

"Who…are…you..?"

"_Oh my, who are we?_"

Grinding her teeth she chose again not to respond, still hopelessly grasping to the idea that this wasn't happening.

_"We go by many names my child.. Vorkantu, Abraxas, Mephistopheles.. for now however you may call us Sitri, any more confusion in this feeble mind might shatter it completely and we simply can't have that yet Merope, you see…We have many plans set in motion, and you shall be the human who realizes our goals for us; but now is not the time for all that so…Enjoy having your mind to yourself for a while, we'll speak again sometime soon."_

A feeling of sheer terror rose from the soles of her feet to the ends of her frazzled hair as this final conversation, for the time being that is, played itself over and over inside her head. She couldn't bring herself to move, this was all too much to take in.

After ten minutes of her butt being glued to this seat the feeling came back to her legs, the blood seemed to rush back into her sunken face and her heart beat seemed less erratic with every intake of breath.

Having felt she'd wasted enough precious time she stood, and walked back to where she had dropped the tattered cloak and should-be retired broomstick. She approached the front door not stopping to take a final look at her home of eighteen years. Merope flung the cloak around her shoulders, not even bothering to shut the door behind her as she stepped into the cool midnight air.


	2. Through the Void

**Chapter Two**

**Through the Void**

Merope could have guessed this broom hadn't moved from that cabinet in a century, maybe longer it was hard to say. A thick coat of dust, and the ancient mass of cobweb that intertwined itself within the dried up broken bristles was the only proof she had to back this theory up.

Heaving a great sigh, she stepped to the tree at the end of the beaten path that led towards the road. She didn't want to cause any further damage to the broom it was her only means of transportation – so, very gently, as if simply sweeping bugs from the trunk, Merope brushed the mass of sticky web to the bark of the tree and dusted the handle as best she could with the tattered hem of her cloak.

She threw one leg over the broom-stick, not sure how the flying part worked yet but completely confident she could work it out.

Merope tried everything she could think of to go airborne – from running as fast as she could with the broom still positioned between her legs, jerking it back and forth with each awkward stride – to holding the broom in place with her thighs, proceeding to flap her arms up and down like some giant bird, though, feeling very foolish at this notion, gave up after her second down stroke and moved on.

It was hopeless, even if she could get this damned thing off the ground she hadn't the slightest clue how to steer it – or how to accelerate – there were no brakes as far as she could tell, and forget landing, that will be a disaster.

Almost giving up she stomped her left foot, angry with herself, into the cold, hard dirt and miraculously the broom, encumbered in shakiness, rose an inch off the ground so slowly she hardly noticed it – only when both feet had removed themselves from the ground completely had she let her focus divert from the shaking broom handle in question to the cold earth below.

She wasn't even an inch from the ground – she knew she would need to rise much higher than this if she had expected to get anywhere soon, but she was flying, and it – was – exhilarating!

The entire broom continued to shake with intensity as the tail-end drifted lazily to the left. Merope was certain the violent rattle had something to do with the wide split down the center of the handle and because the tail was in such horrid condition it moved seemingly, as far as Merope could tell, of its own accord.

Careful not to make any sudden movements, for fear of screwing up whatever it was she had done right in the first place, Merope pulled the broom cautiously to the left; since the tail was in the process of straying anyways, Merope found holding the broom at just the right angle forced the entire broom to glide to the left instead of just the tail section, she found this quite amusing – right up until a low hanging branch blindsided her squarely in the shoulder.

She jerked the broom back to the right majorly over correcting herself – instead of drifting completely in that direction, she spun dizzily in that spot for the better half of a minute.

She noticed leaning left or right, as opposed to pulling, made the broom glide off in the corresponding direction, and if she lifted up on the broom she would go higher so, now that she were more than two feet off the ground, how did she land?

Meropes hands were already starting to go numb from the vicious rattle, the tail listing to the left was a slight annoyance but, bearable. Merope pushed the front end of the broom down a little too quickly and it shot off, leaving her behind in a crumpled state upon the frozen earth quite unexpectedly, though it didn't get very far without a passenger from the spot where it threw Merope to the dirt – she stood up, brushed herself off and strode over to make sure the broom was still intact.

Deciding she had enough of this flying business figured out Merope kicked off from the ground hard and soared shakily, fifty feet into the air. Clinging to the shuddering broom for dear life she pushed forward, this time with a firm grasp on the handle.

Now she was really flying, and it – was – mortifying.

The broomstick shook still, shakily as ever, as it carried her through the night sky. Merope was going to be sick if she didn't get this thing on the ground soon, but desperate to get to London, she pressed on – not daring to look at the few street lamps below that made up Little Hangleton, dwarfed by the mass glow of the city it was named for, Great Hangleton.

"Wait" she whispered to herself under the thunderous sound of the wind that pressed against her ears.

"Where is London?"

"_We cannot believe you Merope, though we for saw this as somewhat of a flaw in your scheme keep your back to the water, follow the road below until you see another glow on the horizon, it isn't far."_

Merope, getting used to these sudden waves of speech that flooded her mind, responded with a little less fear in her voice.

"How d'you know.. that?"

_ "Well Merope, surely you have guessed by now that there isn't much we don't know."_

"_In fact" _The voice known as Sitri continued, _"We are surprised, from all the confusion circulating your mind for the past hour, this one trivial point is all you care to question."_

Merope was struck silent she didn't know where to begin.

_What do you want? Where did you come from? Why me?_

All the hatred and anger she had suppressed over the years – the unspeakable pain, the unforgiveable mental trauma – everything seemed to boil to the surface. Merope was sick of the torment, tired of these voices that weeded her thoughts and completely fed up with this bone-numbing, as far as she was concerned, "chunk of firewood" that carried her through the sky.

"Tell me what you want!" she demanded as though she were in complete control of the situation.

_"To tell you what we want, would be to tell you all that we are all that we have been and all that we have yet to become. Forgive us Merope but that story is one that requires an endured mind we are afraid yours, in its current state, lacks a certain capacity it would require for such enlightenment." _Sitris voice simpered on through the night – a hiss that carried into a menacing whisper.

"Why me – why now – what could I possibly possess that would be of any use to you?"

_"In due time child, all your questions will be answered soon enough."_

Their voice, though still harsh, still violently heavy, seemed almost soothing now, the words reverberated throughout her mind – no – her soul. She felt the warm grasp of her possession fill the gashes of her existence, every care in her world vanished from memory as though a switch were flipped in her mind.

Determined, as though she were finally thinking clearly for the first time in her life she spoke once more – her voice droned on, her expression distanced.

"Tell me what it is that you wish of me lords."

_"Isn't that better then Merope, I assumed taking complete control in here would be easy but convincing the others was a separate matter."_

Sitri seemed to slice the rushing winds now as they spoke. The sheer weight of their voice forced itself down upon Merope's inner being. It fed on her humanity it twisted her soul.

"I live only to carry out the will of the fathers."

_"Yes, much better." _The voice seemed satisfied with her response._ "Continue your path Merope, these things take time."_

The warming sensation left as quickly as it had arrived. Every aspect of her life seemed to flash in front of her as she snapped to reality, still shuddering on towards her destination. She blanched at the sight of the twisting road now seventy feet below her – Merope clutched desperately to the cracked broom.

It must have been another hour before Merope saw the glint on the horizon that she thought must be London. She pressed on still not daring to loosen her grip on the handle.

"Just a bit further, c'mon."

The broom gave a sudden heart stopping lurch, but continued to rattle on through the sky, carrying Merope haphazardly still towards London. Merope knew this broom wouldn't stay up much longer – the handle splintered in her grip.

She looked down to the cottages that now lined the winding road below. Each cottage bore the same meager appearance from above, smoke billowed gently from most of the slate rooftops, shadows danced across the candlelit window panes. The road twisted on through a forest that blocked the ground completely from view as Merope pressed on through the darkness.

She would need to land soon so pushing the broom into a slight dive, Merope's stomach jumped to her throat as she shook, violently as ever, towards the forest. She pulled up hard and the broom corresponded unwillingly as it shuddered and jerked across the tops of the trees. Merope skimmed the tree tops for an opening to maybe attempt a landing when the shuddering ceased – the handle of the broom split completely and Merope hurtled to the branches of the trees below.

She closed her eyes as she spun to certain injury, possible death when a sudden desperate urge to breathe overcame her – her lungs contracted and her body seemed to collapse inward.

The next thing Merope saw was the ground, four feet above her, ready to catch her when she released her ankle from the cross section of this branch. She swung upward to meet the branches with her hands and managed to tease her ankle out from the crevice. Merope didn't release her grip, for a moment she simply hung from the tree looking towards the ground.

_"Do you feel that Merope?"_ The voice sent shivers down her back and in her shock Merope released the branch, falling to the ground below her.

Her feet hit the ground – Merope screamed – blood trickled steadily from the deep gash in her leg – her knees buckled and she collapsed to the frozen floor in agony.

Their whisper grew sharply into something like a hiss that resonated through the forest, bouncing off the trees, hanging from the thick October air.

_"Went and splinched your leg then, you are lucky to have survived that."_

Merope clutched her wounded leg as she sat upright on the cold uneven forest surface, sobbing weakly, her head lolled with each short intake of breath.

"Help me.. Please, somebody anybody." Blood continued to drain from her leg steadily as these words faltered.

_"Do you not wonder how you performed such magic? Apparition takes much determination and skill, neither of which reside in this body."_

Her hollow face turned from the frozen dirt to the low rumble that broke the silence. Her heart stuttered. Merope spotted the road just beyond the trees. Slowly – very slowly, Merope rose from her spot in the dirt. She hobbled through the thicket using each tree to support her weight, collapsing just outside of the tree-line next to the beaten road.

The bitter wind lashed her cheeks, though she felt no chill, a warm sensation gripped her bones – the unmistakable trotting of hooves rode the wind – she tried to speak but no words came to her lips – blood continued to stream from the chunk of flesh missing from her leg – the bobbing glow of a lantern broke the darkness, the rumble grew louder – she closed her eyes, willing death to collect her worn soul – the voice of Sitri rang out among Merope's thoughts.

_You will not die Merope, not here no, not tonight._

Merope opened her eyes.

She was standing, not in the thick forest, but in the center of a winding cobblestone road that led seemingly into the face of a mountain – no blood trickled down her leg.

On one side of the road, a makeshift wire fence barred the way over a ridge. Merope crossed the road and looked beyond the fence down towards the crashing waves that swirled the jagged rocks below. She stepped cautiously back from the devastating cliff, turning her attention towards the other side of the road. The hills seemed to roll on forever; one overlapped the next and so on as far as her sight would carry, neither tree nor cabin graced the scene as the sun poked out over the hill tops – a sense of ease swept over her at the peaceful sight.

This wave of clarity however, fled from her body as soon as it had come when she looked down the cobbled road behind her. A dense fog washed over the ground consuming everything in its path, leaving nothing but ashen landscape in its wake – Merope froze – the rolling hills that had calmed her spirit just moments ago raged in blurred heat, alive and blazing in a terrible flame, the sun met the hilly horizon, eerily giving the impression that they were one and the same – the wire fence crumbled away from the ridgeline, falling to the treacherous shallows that crashed and swirled amidst the jagged rocks.

The slithering fog slowly neared the spot where Meropes feet were planted to the cobblestone – she turned and sprinted down the road, away from the fog. The earth trembled beneath her feet as she fled from the destruction that trailed her heels. Heat radiated through the air, making it very difficult to breathe – the cliff continued on deteriorating to the sea below. Merope found she had less and less ground to stand on with every inch that crumbled away. She would surely die here – the fire now edged the border on the opposite side of the road towering over her, a wall of endless orange flame. Merope swore she could make out distinct figures dancing in the blaze.

She tripped clumsily over her own ankle and fell hard to the rock-road. Merope never had time to look back, the fog seethed over her. She felt the earth crumble from beneath her – she was falling now through the thick blackness if that's what you would call it – Merope did not know up from down nor, left from right, her body seemed to hurtle through an endless void.

A bitter hopelessness crept through her veins, she felt like she would fall through this heavy fog forever – a flash of green jolted her senses angrily to life and she sat bolt upright, her chest heaving desperately, a cold sweat trickled down her back.

"Hullo there."

A thick, black, bushy beard with scattered strands of grey greeted her from across the tidy cabin as she stirred to reality.

"Good ter see yeh'r still with the livin' then."


End file.
